Just a convenient arrangement
by smoltinypumpkinchild
Summary: John Laurens had a row with his roommates and needs a place to crash, and Burr has a house... cue the most unlikely housemates in history- how will they survive? (Idk man, I haven't written that bit yet)


**Burrens needs more love, you guys**

It was well past midnight, and Aaron Burr was lying on top of his bed, book in hand, his eyelids finally starting to droop. For some reason, he'd had particular difficulty getting to sleep. He'd tossed and turned for hours, unable to get comfortable, and grabbed the novel to try and occupy himself in the hope that it would tire him out- and it seemed to be working- at last. Carefully marking his page with a bookmark, he set it on his bedside table and pulled the covers over himself, closing his eyes with a sigh. At last, he could get some rest. The bed was warm, he was drowsy and comfortable, and he could just feel himself dropping off when-

*BANG BANG BANG*

Someone knocked on his door.

Of course.

With a groan, he managed to haul himself upright, rubbing his eyes groggily. Who would be calling at this time of night?- or- he glanced at the clock- this time of morning? He yawned hugely, pulling his dressing gown over his shoulders, and stretched his arms up to the ceiling with a grunt as he walked slowly towards the front of the house. Mind still hazy with sleep, he struggled with his bedroom door for a while, but eventually made it to the hall and shuffled down it, trying to telepathically communicate to whoever was outside just how muchhe hated them. Before he was halfway there, they were knocking again, even harder.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming!" he muttered. "Jesus…" He unlatched the door and pulled it open- and found himself face to face with a clearly wasted John Laurens.

He looked a mess. His hair was out of its usual ponytail, flyaway curls falling every-which-way about his head, his shirt had something spilled down the front of it, and he smelled horribly strongly of alcohol. When Burr opened the door, his face split with a wide, lop-sided grin, and he practically fell on top of him.

"Burr!" he slurred, stumbling into the door frame. "You're up!" Am now.

"Uh-" Before he could say anything, Laurens had pushed past him into the hallway, messily kicking off his shoes and looking around.

"Your hall looks weird in the dark." he mused. "It's all…" he gestured vaguely.

"Dark?" Aaron supplied, moving his sneakers to the edge of the wall so he wouldn't trip over them. Laurens giggled at that.

"No, it's like… green." he muttered, and then frowned, staring at the walls, transfixed. Burr sighed.

"Right. Uh- colour of my hall aside, what are you doing here?"

"Was in the neighbourhood." Laurens replied, as casually as a man in his position could, tripping over his own feet as he continued down the hall. He ran his hand along it, apparently very interested in the pattern of his wallpaper, and Aaron followed him a little hopelessly, unsure of what to do.

How were you supposed to react when your very drunk acquaintance- and barely even that- showed up at your house in the ungodly hours of the morning, simply because he was 'in the neighbourhood'? This wasn't something one of his default conversation templates would solve.

Laurens turned into his bedroom when he reached it and immediately lurched over to his bookcase, staring up at it in something akin to wonder.

"Holy fuck, Burr!" he whisper-yelled. "You've got, like, fifty thousand books! Have you read them all?"

"I-"

"Hey, what's this one- an autobiography?" He had pulled a thick volume from the shelf and was thumbing through it quickly. "How can you read this, man, there's nothing exciting in them. Are all your books this boring?"

"Uh-"

"Oh my god, they are!" he laughed, dropping the first tome and pulling two more down. "They're all, like, textbooks or some shit- Burr, I knew you were boring, but this isextreme…" His eyes moved from the books to the windowsill and he shouted with laughter again, letting the books fall to the ground with a thud and running over to it. Aaron, screaming internally, scrambled to pick them up and set them back in their places, thoughts flying to find some logical way of dealing with this situation. Laurens had picked up one of the ceramic cats that sat on his windowsill, and was staring at it, wide-eyed.

"You have little fake cats too?" he croaked. "This is too good. This is so cute, Burr. Oh my god, you're such a nerd!"

"Laurens." Burr took the statue from his hands and set it back on the windowsill, before taking the quietly giggling man by the shoulders and turning him to face him.

"Yeah?"

"Where are your roommates?" Laurens was rarely seen out of the company of his three best friends- if he'd been out drinking, they had been with him. "Did you get separated on your way home? They must be worried about you." To his surprise, Laurens snorted.

"Ha! No they're not- they- they're all at home, sleeping or some shit."

"So, they didn't go out with you? Or did they go home early?" There was quite a long pause, and the man didn't answer. He just stared up at him curiously, as if examining a particularly interesting alien species. Aaron gritted his teeth to keep from shouting at him. "Laurens?"

"Burr..." he murmured, and he brought up a hand, running it over Aaron's scalp. "Burr, you hair is like... stubble. You've got, like, a five-o'clock shadow on your head-"

"Laurens." Aaron cut him off, gripping his wrist and gently guiding his hand back to his side. "Did you go out drinking by yourself?" He seemed to think for a second, screwing up his face as if the action caused him physical pain.

"Yeah- but I- I met this one guy at the bar, though- he was really nice, kept buying me drinks and shit, but all he wanted to talk about was taxes, and I was like 'if I want to be bored out of my mind, I'll go talk to my roommate-'"

"Right, Laurens, your roommate, who is probably worried sick about you right now." God, this was going to be tedious. "Check your phone- do you have any missed calls?"

"Don't have my phone." Laurens muttered. "'s back at the house."

"Ok. I'll get mine and call your friends, okay? They can come and pick you up." And I might get to sleep tonight. He made to get his phone from inside his jacket, which was hanging on the door, but Laurens grabbed his arms painfully tightly and shook his head.

"No! Don't call Alex! Please, I can't go back to the house, gotta- gotta stay away- h- hesaid-"

Well this was new.

"Hey, hey, okay, okay..." Aaron said, managing to extricate himself from Laurens' grip and guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed as the man's face crumpled. He looked suddenly close to tears. "Did you two have a row?" Laurens scowled. He took it as a yes. "What did he say?"

"Said if I didn't like how he was doing it, I could fucking well leave, and not come back."

"How he was doing what?"

"He- How he was- " Laurens struggle for words, his voice rising, and then- something inside him seemed to snap. "He was being an asshole Burr!" he shouted, throwing up his arms. "He's been being an asshole for weeks now and I called him out on it and- and-" he cut himself off with a half-scream of frustration, getting up, looking as if he was about to break something, and Aaron grabbed his shoulders quickly and pulled him back down.

"Okay, okay, okay. Be quiet for a second." Breathe. "Right, so he told you to get out?" Laurens nodded. "And then you went to a bar and got drunk..." He nodded again.

"Didn't want to think about it." Ok, so he'd been drowning his sorrows in alcohol alone, some guy had apparently been hitting on him, but he'd left because he was boring, and then...

"And then you came here?"

"Well first I went to the store- the one on the corner with the gnomes- you know Laf once used one of them to- "

"Laurens, please, focus."

"So- so I went to the store and got… got beer-"

"After you'd been drinking at the bar?"

"Yeah- I got beer and- and chips I think- and then I-" Laurens stopped suddenly, clamping his mouth shut. He looked quite green. Damnit.

"Bathroom. Quickly." He didn't protest.

Almost as soon as he'd got him through the hall, Laurens was bent double over the toilet, retching up 7/11 chips and, apparently, an awful lot of dubiously acquired spirits. Burr didn't really know what to do, so he rubbed Laurens' back gently, holding back his mane of hair as best he could with the other hand, and tried not to look at the contents of the bowl.

This wasn't exactly how he had expected tonight to go.

Once he seemed to have rid himself of the entire contents of his stomach, Laurens coughed hard, still doubled over, and then took a few deep breaths.

"You ok?" Burr removed the hand from his back. Laurens just groaned. He straightened slightly, clutching his stomach, and slumped against the wall. There was now vomit splashed on his shirt as well, and some on his knees. The smell was overpowering. Oh, God.

Laurens had started to cry. Dry, hitching sobs ripped through him, and Aaron went back to rubbing the space between his shoulder-blades, murmuring as much comfort as he could.

"Shh, sssh, Laurens, you're alright, you're going to be fine, just sshh now, sshh, you're fine, you're fine..." He felt rather nauseous himself now. The sickly smell was awfully strong, and the man's bony shoulder dug sharply into his chest as Laurens choked and grabbed him around the waist, burying his vomit-stained face into Burr's chest. Great.

"Okay, Laurens, okay. Let's get you out of these clothes, huh? They must feel pretty gross- and I'll get you some water, and a bowl in case you need to throw up again, ok? Lift up your arms- that's it- I'll help..." He carried on rambling quiet reassurances as he helped Laurens out of his jacket, T-shirt, and then his jeans, leaving him in his boxers and socks- shivering slightly with the cold. He wiped what was left of the vomit from his chin- most was currently smeared down his own chest- with the T-shirt, and then threw the dirty clothes into a pile in the corner of the room, gagging slightly at the smell. After a moments' consideration, he pulled his own shirt over his head and chucked that over as well.

He took Laurens gently but firmly by the arm and guided him into the kitchen, where he took the washing up bowl out of the sink, and then back into his bedroom. The man followed him without protest, socks slipping on the kitchen floor, expression numb and slack. He seemed suddenly spent. Without much prompting, he was seated on the edge of Burr's bed, the bowl clutched against his stomach, with his hair falling limply around his face.

"Right." Aaron told him. "You stay here, I'll get you some water, alright?" Laurens nodded weakly, and he left for the kitchen again, thinking hard.

Alright. So he wouldn't, or couldn't, go back to his house, and he certainly wasn't in any state to go trying to find a hotel. If he went out again, he'd probably end up sleeping in a dumpster. So… he'd have to stay here. That idea didn't seem particularly appealing, but what other choice did he have?

Mulling it over, he poured a glass of water and returned to his room- to find Laurens passed out on his bed.

He was snoring slightly, the plastic bowl slipping from his grasp, face smushed against the pillow, and he didn't look like he was moving any time soon. Well. Guess that made thatchoice for him. Sighing, he rolled the man over, making sure he was on his front so he didn't choke on his own vomit if he threw up again, and set the bowl on the bedside table. He probably wouldn't have slept tonight anyway.

Reluctantly, he returned to the bathroom and cleaned up the mess, throwing the clothes into the washing machine and wiping down the toilet, biting down his own bile. He spent the rest of the night on the couch, reading and dozing, his legs starting to cramp. He tried not to think about the morning ahead. That can of worms could wait forever, as far as he was concerned.

John woke to find himself curled in bed, his temple throbbing, and with an absolutely horrible taste in his mouth. Groaning hoarsely, he screwed his eyes shut to block out the light seeping into the room. He felt sick, weak, and everything after his third shot the previous night was something of a blur- though he vaguely remembered some guy coming on to him… Oh, shit. A one-night-stand was really not what he needed right now. Perhaps he hadn't… but he was nude but for his boxers, and- he opened his eyes half a millimeter- the bed he was lying in definitely wasn't his own. Fuck.

The bed was empty- though he wasn't sure whether that made matters better or worse. Either this was a motel or something and whoever he'd hooked up with had left, or, heaven forbid, they'd just woken up first and were now waiting for him to get the fuck out of their house. Unfortunately, he found himself putting his money on the latter.

Oh, God. This just couldn't get much worse, could it?  
He turned slowly onto his other side and pushed himself up on his elbows, squinting into the too-bright room. There was a bedside table next to his head, with a large plastic washing up bowl on top of it, along with a glass of water, a pack of painkillers- and a bright yellow post-it-note. Confused, he leaned over and picked it up, reading the neatly printed message there:

Laurens,

You knocked on my door at around 3am last night incredibly drunk, threw up all over yourself (hence the lack of clothing) and passed out on my bed. Here is some water and Advil for the dreadful hangover you will no doubt be suffering from when you wake up.

I am out at work and will be back at around 6pm- I won't tell any of your roommates where you are.

He frowned. There was no signature, no phone number- oh. The message continued on the other side.

If you need to contact me, my phone number is 56687 452 897. Perhaps you can explain your situation a little better to me when I get home; understandably, you weren't terribly coherent last night. I hope you are recovering. See you later.

\- A. Burr

So, he hadn't slept with anyone. God, that was a relief. And- Burr? Aaron Burr? Why him? He barely knew the guy- he was a colleague of Alexander's, and had struck him during their brief interactions as being quiet, reserved, and intelligent- if a bit stuck up. So, this was Burr's house... He glanced around the room, taking in the towering bookshelves and clear, spotless floor. No, he didn't have any trouble believing that. What confused him was why onearth he was still here.

Why would Burr have let him stay the night? What would he himself have done, if a distant acquaintance had turned up drunk at his house and- he lDoked at the note again, and groaned internally- passed out on his bed?

He probably would have kicked them out; why would Burr have deigned to let him stay? Then again, perhaps he physically hadn't been able to wake him... He'd have to ask when the man got home.

John craned his neck to see the rest of the room, and read the time- 2:26 - on a clock on the wall. That meant he had a few hours to kill.

Sitting up, rubbing his head, he gulped down some of the water and painkillers, and then slumped back down again with a groan.

Bits and pieces of the previous evening were starting to come back to him- in reverse order, he was pretty sure. He remembered getting to the bar and asking for 'something strong'- and downing whatever the poor bartender had given him in one. He remembered storming out of the house and regretting not bringing a coat, but not being able to go back because… because he'd stormed out- he'd had a row with Alex. Oh, yeah. Anger flared up in him as the details of the argument trickled back into his memory. He remembered… it hadn't startedbad. He'd been annoyed with Alex, but not angry. He had told him… told him… he rubbed his pounding forehead. It could wait.

For some time, he simply lay in the bed, which was surprisingly comfortable. He would have expected Burr to sleep stiff as a board, but he was almost drowning in soft blankets- it surpassed even Lafayette's million cushions in comfort, he observed. Maybe the guy had to compensate for his prickly personality- hey, that was good. He'd have to remember that. Speaking of Burr…

What on earth was he going to do when the guy got home? It was going to be awkward, whatever happened- he'd passed out drunk in the poor man's bed for crying out loud. Jesus, why had the guy even let him in the door?

He probably would've felt bad turning him away, he thought. Yeah, maybe that was it- the guy was outrageously polite, if Alexander was to be believed- he cut himself off. He didn't want to think about Alexander. Still.

Oh god, Burr would probably be way too nice to him, wouldn't he? He was going to come home and be a wonderful host and make him feel even more awful about whatever had happened the previous night. Ugh.

This might actually be worse than a one night stand.

After about an hour, he felt well enough to get up, so pushed himself into a sitting position and looked around him properly. The bedroom was plain, and little dull, but comfortable, and smelled like something he couldn't place- something warm. His bookshelves were full to bursting and neatly stacked with what looked to be mostly biographies and tomes on psychology.

Next to his feet, he noticed a small stack of neatly folded pyjamas with another note on top of them, in the same handwriting.

Laurens,

Feel free to wear these if you do not wish to spend the day in your underwear. They will probably be slightly too large, but I trust you will manage.

\- A. Burr

He held up the shirt- it was dark purple plaid and definitely too big for him- with mounting incredulity. He'd left him pyjamas to wear? Damn. He must have been in awful shape last night to warrant this kind of pity.

Still, he pulled the pyjamas on- hey, they were soft and he was cold- before he left to explore the rest of the house. He had to roll up the trousers several times to be able to walk- was Burr really that tall? He hadn't noticed it- granted, he knew the guy towered over Alexander, but everyone towered over Alexander. If his ability to disappear almost completely inside Burr's clothes was anything to go by, however, the man was a whole lot taller than he remembered. He'd have to check when he got home.

Moving to the other end of the room, he almost missed something of a gem- three ceramic cats sat neatly on the windowsill. A grin splitting his face, he walked over and picked one of them up, careful not to damage it. They were tiny, delicate, and absolutely adorable, painted expertly in shades of grey and brown. The base of the one he was holding read 'From Sally' in miniature, looping handwriting. When he picked up the others, he found the same signature. He wondered vaguely who 'Sally' was- a friend? girlfriend? sister?- before continuing through to the hall.

Like the bedroom- and, he later found out, every room except the kitchen and the bathroom- the hall was softly carpeted against his feet, and his footsteps were almost completely muffled as he made his way through to the lounge.

There, still more bookshelves lined the walls, and a dark brown sofa with a few cushions propped on it was pushed into a corner. Taking a closer look, he could see that these books, too, seemed to be biographies and philosophy- privately, he'd always found them mind-numbingly boring, but Alexander read them all the time- he noticed several that he recognised- but no. He wasn't going to think about Alexander. An iPad was sitting on the coffee table next to the couch, with yet another note stuck to the front.

Laurens,

My Netflix password is 17-76-NeWyORk344 so you can entertain yourself- as my books are, in your words, "Like, textbooks or some shit."

What was this guy's deal? The politeness was starting to get creepy. He'd left him his Netflixpassword? What?

But hey, John wasn't one to turn down free stuff when it was shoved his way. He opened the iPad, found it had no pass-code lock (maybe Burr had removed it for him), and signed into Netflix. Scrolling through for almost 20 minutes as he always did, he didn't see much he felt like watching. Almost everyone he knew had been talking about Stranger Things recently, so perhaps he could check that out… he and Alexander had been going to start it together- but, after their row, John felt justified in being just a little petty. If he knew Alex, he was probably doing the exact same thing.

So, he spent the day curled on the couch with the iPad stood up in front of him, and lost count of the number of episodes he watched. It was really not fair that Netflix automatically played the next episode for you, he had always thought- how was he supposed to get anything done? It was 5:03, according to the clock at the top of the screen, when he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock on the front door, and sat up hastily, closing down the iPad.

So. Burr was home.

What now? What was he going to say? What was he going to do?

Breathe, John, breathe. It's Burr. What's the worst that could happen? He shuffled his way off the sofa and into the hall, hesitantly knocking on the doorframe to alert Burr to his presence when he caught sight of him. The man was pulling off his boots in the doorway, and looked up at the noise with something that wasn't a smile, but that might at least have been an attempt at one.

"Laurens, you're up." he acknowledged.

"I- yeah- and I'm- " he struggled for the words for a second. Burr really was taller than he remembered him- a dark, spindly silhouette against his pale front door, dressed in a (currently soaked) black coat and long grey scarf, twisted multiple times around his neck. There were pronounced dark circles under his eyes, and his whole face was drawn. Guilt worried at John's words rather obviously- had he kept the man up all night?

"I'm so sorry about last night- " he continued, "- and this morning, and everything and I- " Burr waved a dismissive hand, pushing past him.

"I'm not going to hold a conversation with you until I've had coffee." he grunted, and disappeared into the kitchen. John followed, a little non-plussed.

Burr made and drank his coffee without saying another word to him. He was still wearing his coat, and it was dripping slightly onto the floor, but he didn't seem to notice. While he stood awkwardly in the doorway, watching, the man made two more strong mug-fulls and set both on the table, before beckoning him to come and sit down.

"Sugar?" he asked.

"Uh- yeah, thanks." John sat, taking the sugar-bowl as Burr offered it to him, and tipped in a large amount before swilling it around to help it dissolve. He noticed Burr's raised eyebrow, but he didn't say anything as he passed John the milk as well. Once both had taken a sip of their drinks, deemed them too hot to drink, and set them awkwardly on their coasters (ofcourse Burr had coasters ready), Burr looked dead at him and gestured for him to talk.

"Start from the beginning." he told him.

John took a breath.

"Ok… I- uh- so you know I went out and got drunk last night?"

"Evidently."

"Do you know... anything else?"

"I know it had something to do with Hamilton. You were shouting about how he was being an asshole, and he yelled at you for calling him out on it. Is that about right?"

"Yeah, pretty much." John sighed. "He'd been getting worse for weeks- you probably know how he gets under an intense workload- he was stressing himself out, he wasn't eating properly, wasn't sleeping at all, and when he gets like that he gets really snappy with the rest of us. You know, me and Laf and Herc." He paused.

It felt odd, telling all this to a near stranger, but Burr deserved to know the circumstances, he reasoned. He had been a total pain in the ass to him, after all.

"Well, he was just being awful yesterday- taking out his frustration and all that; he was just being mean. And we all try to just ignore it, we know he's not in a great place mentally, but it just got so much and I sort of- cracked, you know? I told him it wasn't his place to be an ass to us because of how much pressure he was putting on himself, and that he was being pretty cruel, some of the stuff he was saying was out of line. He snapped straight back, of course- you know Alex. And then it just got worse and worse and we were shouting at each other and the others were trying to break it up but we were both too pig-headed to step down- and then he told me that if I didn't want to be around him, I could fucking well leave. So, I just… did."

He slumped over, resting his chin on his hands with a sigh.

"You just left?"

"Yeah. I stormed out, didn't take anything with me. I had my wallet in my pocket, so I went and blew half my money on booze. You- uh- you saw how that turned out."

"I did, yes. Well, I'm sorry to hear about that, Laurens. I know you and Hamilton are close." John looked up at him. There was no emotion at all behind the words- Burr clearly didn'tmean them- but hey. At least he was trying.

"Thanks." he muttered. He took a sip of his coffee, which had cooled down, and was surprised by how good it was- trying to think of something else to fill the uncomfortable silence with.

"Is there- uh- is there anything I should know about? You know, from last night?" Burr answered him flatly.

"No, not that I am aware of. From what you told me, you went to the bar and got drunk, some guy hit on you, but you thought he was boring and left. Then you went to the store down the road, bought chips and more beer, before you came round here. You yelled about Hamilton, threw up in the toilet, and passed out. Not a particularly riveting story, I'm afraid." John breathed a sigh of relief.

"That's good to hear. I didn't mention anything about, like, throwing a body in the canal?"

"No."

"Ok. Alright." He could deal with this.

"So, what are you going to do now?" The question surprised him. "Talk things out with Alexander? Or will you avoid him like the plague for the rest of your life?" John felt a short laugh leave his lips at the dry statement.

"Take a wild guess, Burr. Alexander's not a gracious winner. If there's going to be any talking, I certainly won't be the one to initiate it- I'm not going to give him that satisfaction." He set his jaw, staring at the table. The anger from last night was still there, sitting like a pile of hot coals at the bottom of his stomach.

He didn't want to think about Alexander. He definitely didn't want to see Alexander.

"I'll… I'll find a hotel or something, for now. Or see if anyone's looking for roommates- can I use your WiFi to look? My phone's back at the house- so's all my stuff- shit. I could probably sneak in tomorrow…"

"You're going to stay in a hotel indefinitely? Are you sure that's a good idea, Laurens?"  
"I know it's not a good idea." he grumbled. "But what else am I going to do? Alex told me toget out, and I did- I can't go back now; it's the principle of the thing. It's a matter of pride,Burr."

"Well, Alexander certainly has plenty of that." Burr muttered, almost to himself. "But I don't think it's reasonable to book out a hotel until the two of you make up- it'll cost you a fortune."

"Do you have a better idea?" Burr sipped his coffee idly.

"You could always stay here. I've got the room- I know I don't have a second bed, but I can make up the couch, and I won't charge you rent or anything."

What?

"What?"

"I said- "

"I know what you said, I'm just trying to work out if you're joking." John said, frowning at him. It didn't make any sense. What on earth was Burr doing? They didn't even know each other- and he was offering to let him live in his house, indefinitely, for no charge? What?

"You can buy your own food." Burr continued, apparently unconcerned by John's disbelief. "And you can't wear my pyjamas forever- and if you put the toilet roll in the wrong way, I willkick you out. But, apart from that, we shouldn't have a problem." John blushed and looked down at himself- he was still wearing Burr's too-long plaid pyjamas.

"Right- yeah, I'll- uh- I'll get my own clothes back. But- why are you even offering? What part of my yelling, vomiting, and snoring persuaded you that I'd make a good roommate?" He thought he saw a ghost of something like a smile pull at the corners of Burr's mouth at that.

"Why, for all of them at once." John frowned.

"Is that a reference to something?"

"Much Ado about Nothing. Shakespeare." Of course Burr knew Shakespeare. "Sorry, I tend to be reduced to quoting when I'm deliriously tired. Didn't sleep too well last night, after all." John felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over him.

"I am really sorry about all that, by the way- I don't know what was going through my head, it's just-"

"Laurens." Burr cut him off. "It's fine, ok? Just- let me sleep now. You don't have to make a decision straight away; you can stay for tonight and think about it in the morning."

He got to his feet, downing the last dregs of his coffee.

"I am going to bed. I promise I'm usually a little more hospitable, but I'm starting to feel a little faint- I've been on my feet all day." John bit back another apology when Burr shot him a look. "Blankets are in the airing cupboard next to the washing machine- " he pointed to the other side of the kitchen. "- there are leftovers in the fridge- give them five minutes in the microwave on high, stir, then five more minutes- plug my iPad in to charge when you're done with it- try not to break anything- and I will see you in the morning."

Without another word, he had trudged into his bedroom, leaving his empty mug in the sink. John watched him go with his mouth slightly open.

Surely he wasn't weird for finding this… well, weird. Burr was being so matter-of-fact about it, as if inviting a near stranger to live with you was a normal thing to do. Well… he could consider in the morning. Already, the prospect of free lodging, heating, and WiFi seemed a lot more inviting than whatever crummy hotel he would have ended up in otherwise. And, he reasoned, even if he had found someone looking for a roommate, they would have been acomplete stranger- at least he'd met Burr before… Still, he didn't need to think about it right now.

He was feeling kind of hungry, so opened the fridge and found half a pasty, a tub of cold lasagna, and a grapefruit. He followed Burr's instructions regarding the lasagna and tapped his fingers on the counter as he waited for it to heat up. He then had to wait for it to cool down, so sat back down at the kitchen table and blew on it every few seconds. He had to admit that it smelled delicious.

He'd only eaten a few bites when he heard a loud rapping on the door. It was barely three seconds before the knocking resumed- and there didn't seem to be any response from Burr- what if he was asleep? It sounded urgent, but he couldn't just answer Burr's door for him, how would he explain that? A few more seconds, and a voice rang through from outside- and John was very glad that he hadn't got up to answer it. It was unmistakeably Alexander.

"Burr!" he was yelling. "Burr, get out here, I know you're home!"

"C'mon, Burr, it's important!"- that was Hercules. That meant Lafayette must be here too- and, sure enough:

"Monsieur, please. We need your help!"

John sat, wondering what to do, for a good twenty seconds before he heard Burr's voice from his bedroom, groggy with sleep, and definitely annoyed.

"Alright, Hamilton, I'm coming!" Evidently, the racket had woken him up.

He listened hard, quietly getting up from his seat to stand next to the open kitchen door, as the front door was pulled open and Burr's voice said "What do you want?"

"Burr, finally, have you seen John anywhere today?"

"Laurens? No, why? Have you lost him?" John had to take a moment to be impressed by the man's bored tone of voice- he was a great liar- and then to be intensely grateful that he had thought not to give him away. It had been clear earlier that he thought the best course of action would be for John to talk to Alexander- and he could have made that happen, right now, by saying "Yes, he's in my kitchen." The conversation was continuing in the doorway, and he snapped out of his thoughts to pay attention to it.

"We have not seen him since last night." Lafayette was saying. "Alexander and him had something of an argument, and- "

"He shouted at me and stormed out." Alex cut him off, and John felt resentment flare in his gut. Of course, Alexander would never accept any of the blame himself. "You're sure you haven't seen him?"

"Why would I have?" Burr answered. "Why don't you ask his boss?"

"We did, and he wasn't at work today." Alex said, impatiently. "He called in sick. And you're, like, the only person we know that lives in the area-"

"Well, I haven't seen him, Hamilton." Burr told him, monotonous. "Now will you leave me in peace? I didn't sleep a wink last night, and I would appreciate it if there wasn't a repeat performance." He sighed. "I'll call you if I hear anything, or if I see him." There was a general murmur of grudging assent from the trio, and they appeared to be leaving. John caught "appreciate it, man." from Hercules, and then the door was closed. He heard Burr groan, stretch, and shuffle back into his room, pulling the door shut behind him.

So, Alex and the others were looking for him. At least they cared that much… But John wasn't about to forgive them right off the bat. If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his ability to hold a grudge (he hadn't spoken to James Reynolds since eighth grade).

Though he hadn't told Burr, he was almost as mad at Laf and Herc as he was at Alexander. They had taken his side- not just yesterday, but repeatedly, whenever that sort of thing happened. They just let him get away with being a total dick to them, and got angry with himwhen he tried to get him to come around. He finished his lasagna in fuming thought, deciding by the last bite that he wasn't going to speak to any of them, ever again, and shoved the tub and fork next to the sink. He could clear them up in the morning.

So, he was going to sleep here tonight. That seemed to be the only thing he could be sure of right now, despite the fact that he still felt weird about situation- like he was invading Burr's space, despite having been invited into it. But it wasn't that weird, if you thought about it. He needed a place to sleep, and he was already here, and Burr was abnormally polite and generous. It was just… a convenient arrangement. That was all.

After grabbing a couple of blankets from the airing cupboard, he wrapped himself up and curled on the sofa with Burr's iPad on his chest, and started up another episode of Stranger Things. He found he was barely tired- after all, he had woken up halfway through the afternoon, and it was only around 9pm now- he was definitely going to be awake for hours,maybe wouldn't sleep at all-

He was snoring with the iPad fallen forward onto his face before midnight. It didn't die until 3.

 **Okayy so this was LITERALLY all filler and build up but I promise things will actually happen in the next chapter... (and posting this might give me the motivation to get on with it...**


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